


A Working Relationship

by AnneArthur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:14:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7945948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneArthur/pseuds/AnneArthur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she finds Severus Snape alive in the Shrieking Shack after the Battle of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall must learn to rebuild her relationship with him - and he must learn how to live again. Initially posted on Livejournal at HPFriendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Working Relationship

The room was even worse than Minerva had expected. She had not seen the Shrieking Shack for years, and the dust and broken furniture did nothing to help her mood. Snape lay sprawled like a discarded rag doll, looking pathetic in this bleak setting. He seemed to have bled more than Minerva would have thought possible – his sticky, drying blood was everywhere.  
Grimly, she knelt down beside him. She was the acting headmistress now, as she had been after another tragedy a year ago. He - whatever he had been, and it seemed that she had been, she forced herself to confess it, _culpably_ mistaken there - had been headmaster, her predecessor. She had to do this; she owed it to the school.  
Methodically, she closed the staring black eyes, and tried to push the hair back from his face, struggling to free it where it had become matted with blood from his wounds. Suddenly she stopped. Had she imagined it? She had felt . . . She looked closely at the snake-bites, and then put two fingers to Snape’s neck, just above them. Was it? Could it be? She pulled out her wand and touched the same spot. There it was. The classic sign: a slight coldness and rigidity to the skin, and a faint tingling when touched with the wand. Kartoffel's Conundrum.  
Kartoffel's Conundrum! That was incredibly advanced transfiguration, even under the best of circumstances. To conjure a temporal simulacrum of yourself - a fraction of a second behind your dying body, and to keep it - just - in a vegetative state as a receptacle for your soul . . . There could hardly be six witches or wizards in Britain today who could do that. She shook her head in disbelief. You had to hand it to Severus Snape - he was clever, right enough.  
A few more passes of the wand reassured her that the Kartoffel's would hold up long enough to summon help. And fortunately the battle had knocked out the anti-apparition charms, so she wouldn't have to face the tunnel again. She stood up, moved away from the body a little, and Disapparated.

Poppy Pomfrey was still in the Great Hall, examining the long lines of wounded. She looked up as Minerva Apparated. 'What?' she asked, seeing her expression.  
'You're needed in the Shrieking Shack, Poppy. That's if you can be spared here.' Minerva didn't waste her words. 'It's Severus Snape - he's alive.'  
'But how? I thought Potter saw him die?'  
'Kartoffel's. God knows how he did it, but he's just about holding on.'  
Poppy straightened up and looked round. 'Treadgold,' she said, addressing a young Healer, presumably just arrived from St Mungo's - 'take over here, will you?' She picked up her Healer's bag and the two witches Disapparated again.

In the Shrieking Shack Minerva immediately got down to business. She touched her wand to Snape’s wrists, throat and temples, feeling for the points of contact with the simulacrum. Silently, Poppy opened her bag, and handed over several little bottles of potions, which Minerva applied at the same points. Then she was ready. Taking a deep breath, Minerva gathered up the simulacrum with her wand. Then, bringing her wand-tip to Snape’s lips, she began to murmur the incantations in a soft, sing-song voice, her eyes shut and her face screwed up in concentration, feeling the simulacrum move in time - slowly, slowly - until it exactly overlaid the body. Whe she was sure it was exactly in the right place she drew the wand down until it was over Snape’s heart and touched him there, singing one loud and imperious note on the D above middle C, a wordless command. As she felt the soul slip through her wand into the waiting flesh, Snape's whole body jerked, and he gave a loud gasp and began to breathe noisily; Minerva, her wand still over his heart, continued to sing, alternating two notes now, strong and regular. Snape’s breathing sychronised with the singing and became quieter, more relaxed. As it grew steadier, Minerva sang more faintly, until she felt confident enough to stop. Snape continued to breathe regularly.  
Exhaustion flooded through her. She sat back, pushing her hair - which had come down under the strain - away from her face. Poppy moved past her, applying more potions from her bottles. She ran her wand over Snape.  
‘Well done, Minerva,’ she said. ‘That took some doing, but I think you've saved him. Is there still a bed in this place?’  
‘Upstairs,’ said Minerva. ‘You’re not taking him to St Mungo’s, then?’  
Poppy shook her head. ‘He’d not survive the journey,’ she said, ‘either by apparition or by the Floo network. He’ll have to stay here until he’s stronger.’  
Businesslike again, the two witches conjured a stretcher, and very slowly, very gently, levitated Snape’s body onto it. Once upstairs, Poppy took one look at the dingy bed and vanished the curtains and bedclothes, conjuring up a pile of clean bedlinen, which she proceeded to make into a tidy bed with neat hospital corners. Then, very gently again, she levitated Snape onto it, and pulled back his robes to get a better look at his wounds.  
‘There must be some anticoagulant in the venom,’ she said. ‘It ought to have stopped by now. This is not good, not good at all.’  
Something stirred in Minerva's memory. This had happened before, when Nagini had attacked Arthur Weasley and he had nearly bled to death. But then the healer had been able to stop it. What was his name?  
‘Smethwyck!’ She said suddenly. ‘Do you know a healer called Smethwyck?’  
‘Hippo Smethwyck, at St Mungo’s? I trained with him. He’s a bites man, certainly – he might know something.’  
‘About a year and a half ago, this same snake bit Mr Weasley – Arthur Weasley, you know – and Healer Smethwyck managed to stop the wounds bleeding.’  
‘Minerva, you’re a genius!’ Poppy rummaged in her kit, and pulled out a device rather like a ball-point pen. She pressed the top down, and said loudly, ‘Hippocrates Smethwyck, please: St Mungo’s.’  
A man’s face appeared above the end of the device.  
‘Poppy Pomfrey here,’ said Poppy. ‘I’m in the Shrieking Shack, and I’ve got a bad case of snakebite here: the bleeding won’t stop. Minerva McGonagall tells me that you managed to cure a very similar case about a year and a half ago. Can you tell me what you used?’  
‘A mixture of essence of murtlap, oil of mandrake, root of valerian and dittany. But I’ve got some made up – would you like me to bring it over?’  
‘At once, please. And as much blood replenishing potion as you can spare. Thanks Hippo – I really appreciate it.’ She pressed the side of the device, and the face vanished.  
The faint pop of Smethwyck apparating into the room coincided with a feeble groan from the bed. Both healers immediately bent over their patient, and Minerva took the opportunity to slip away. The headmistress had other duties to attend to.

The sunlight seemed like a blessing as Minerva walked out to the Whomping Willow a few days later, clutching a bag of grapes and a large bunch of irises. Even the ruined walls of the castle looked better by this light. You could really believe that healing might be possible on a morning like today.  
She hadn't seen Snape since the day she saved his life. It was not - exactly - that she had been avoiding him. She'd had enough duties to attend to. But she was not sorry to have to hear of his continuing recovery through Poppy. She had very mixed feelings about him.  
She reviewed the situation mentally as she pressed the knot on the tree trunk and headed down the tunnel. She had gone out that day to retrieve her predecessor's body out of a sense of duty - duty and guilt, she supposed. Duty because she had loathed him, guilt because he had not been the man she had thought him, and because she had made his difficult task even harder. She remembered things she had said, actions she had taken - justified at the time, she had thought, but she would give anything to undo them now. When she discovered that he was alive, she had not thought at all - other than to wonder at his skill, even in a discipline that was not his speciality - she had simply acted. She had saved his life simply because it was a life, and because so many had been lost.  
And she found now that she was pleased with that knowledge. She had done things - she didn't think about them, tried not to think about them, but they crowded round the edge of her mind, waiting their time. During her brief periods of sleep they haunted her, and she saw herself again using Unforgiveable Curses - not _in extremis_ even, but from choice, from sheer hatred. Worse yet, she saw herself ordering Slytherin house - a quarter of the school - out of Hogwarts. Oh, she had been provoked - by Pansy Parkinson's spiteful face, by the dull, stupid, _banal_ evil of the Carrows - but it was not enough. She was the headmistress - she had always thought of herself that way, Snape notwithstanding - and she should have set standards for the school to follow. Instead she had given in to her temper like a teenager, like one of the students. And now the Parkinson girl was dead, whatever her faults, aged not quite eighteen, and the Carrows would spend the rest of their lives in the custody of Dementors - and the Slytherins, expelled, had gone to get their friends and families and anyone else they could find and had come charging back to fight the good fight for Hogwarts. She had despised them, and they had been better than she was. She stood rebuked, and rightly so.  
So she was glad that when she found Snape, it had never even occurred to her to let him die. Perhaps she was not all rotten, perhaps there was some small redemption for her in the life she had saved. But there was no denying that this was going to be a difficult meeting. She clutched her gifts and walked grimly on.

The bedroom of the Shrieking Shack had been tidied since she was last there. The dust had vanished, the window was open, and even the faded wallpaper looked quite home-like in the sunlight. A large jug of meadowsweet and forget-me-nots stood on the windowledge - Poppy's doing, no doubt.  
Snape still lay listlessly against the pillows, but there was more colour in his face. He was awake - his black eyes fixed on her as she entered, and he watched her expressionlessly as she walked over to the bed. Minerva felt herself becoming irritated. Could he not say hello? Say anything? Was there ever such a man for completely wrong-footing you? Well, she would have to speak.  
'Hello, Severus,' she said brightly. 'I see I'm not the first one to bring you flowers.'  
'No indeed.' His voice hadn't changed - cold, neutral, with that little sneer somewhere behind it. She felt a prickly anger but continued undaunted.  
'Those are washed - I thought you might like them.' She conjured up a plate for the grapes, then turned her attention to the irises.  
'Yes, I rather like grapes, thank you.' Still that same tone of faint mockery, and he wasn't even looking at her beautiful irises. This was going to be harder than she thought.  
'Severus . . . Severus, I'm so sorry. I should have realised that you could never betray Dumbledore.' There was definite emotion there. That name had provoked a reaction, and not a pleasant one either, and she saw too that he had seen that she had seen it, and that he was not happy with himself. 'I thought you had gone over completely to . . . to Voldemort' - it was hard to say the name, even now - 'and I'm afraid I made your life so much harder than it needed to be. Severus, can you forgive me?'  
The expression in the black eyes was now one of surprise.  
'But of course I forgive you, Minerva,' he said. 'You did exactly what I wanted you to do. And I must say you did it splendidly - you didn't let me down once. You even chased me out of the school just when I needed you to, and with such a magnificent display, too! You saved a great many lives - you should be proud of yourself. Apology accepted.' He turned his head away slightly and shut his eyes.  
Minerva felt a stab of fury. Where was his apology? Yes, he had been working for Dumbledore all along, but the things he had done . . . He had said the right things just now, but she realised that she had expected him to say them differently. She had expected . . . an explanation, she supposed, regret that he had had to deceive her, some talk of the difficulty of his role, a frank relief that it was over and that they were on the same side again. But instead - it was as if she had been his puppet, nothing more, and he had seen through her all along, pulled her strings and made her dance to his tune!  
But that was so like Snape! He had always been like that, even as a boy. A clever child, all right, mastering even the hardest transfiguration exercises with apparent ease, but always with a bored attitude, with an expression that seemed to say, 'Is that all there is to it?' How different from the innocent pride, the boyish showing off, the sheer pleasure in his own skill, of someone like James Potter! How typically Slytherin, she had found herself thinking. Later, when Albus had told her that he would be coming to teach at Hogwarts - one of the youngest teachers the school had ever employed - she had of course been ready to offer him the benefit of her experience, but again he had been cold and self-sufficient, keeping himself to himself, seemingly needing no help from anybody. His results had been excellent, but the way he had achieved them . . . She remembered Remus Lupin's distressed face as he told her about Neville Longbottom's boggart, and felt anger rising in her at the very thought of it. No teacher should ever be a student's greatest fear! Far too many students had been afraid of Snape. And he hadn't seemed to care - indeed, she thought he had encouraged it. It was no good. The man simply repelled her - he always had.  
But she had to persevere.  
'But I didn't come here just to see how you were doing.' There, that was the whole question of an apology sidelined - just an incidental part of a social visit. And fortunately she had an ace up her sleeve . . .  
'I also have some information for you. The Wizengamot met yesterday.' She paused to let her words sink in, and was gratified to notice that he had his eyes open and was watching her. They have decided to offer you the Order of Merlin - first class.'  
Snape didn't even blink.  
'I would have expected nothing less,' he said calmly, reaching out and helping himself to a grape.  
'You would have expected nothing less!' Minerva exploded. 'The wizarding world's highest honour, and you would have expected nothing less!'  
Snape swallowed the grape. 'Well, I'm sorry if it upsets your Gryffindor sensibilities, Minerva - noble self-sacrifice, greater good, service for the sake of service and all that - but yes, I would have expected nothing less. Do you think it was easy, keeping tabs on the Carrows night and day, trying to protect the students from them without their ever realising that they were being thwarted? Do you think it was easy, keeping watch over the more, um, _enthusiastic_ members of my own house, trying to head off the worst of their schemes? Trying to find out what Longbottom and his merry bunch of saboteurs were up to, and stop them getting themselves killed? Trying to work out when I could rely on you and the rest to do my work for me - and I must say, Minerva, you were splendid, none of you ever let me down - and when I would have to do it myself? And then on top of that, I had to dance attendance on the Dark Lord and keep watch over him, as well as follow the late Albus Dumbledore's completely insane plans to have young Potter where he needed to be to save us all. Do you think all that was straightforward? A piece of cake? Well it was bloody hard! I didn't have a full night's sleep or an uninterrupted meal in nine months. But I did it! In the nine months I was Headmaster of Hogwarts there were no deaths and only three - no, four - serious injuries. And none of those likely to have permanent consequences, I think. I absolutely deserve that medal, Minerva, and I am not about to pretend otherwise!'  
Minerva had been watching him closely.  
'But you don't want it,' she said quietly. 'Why not?'  
There was silence.  
'I don't know,' he said at last, and his voice now sounded lost and bewildered. 'Two years ago, three, nothing would have pleased me more. But now? What good is it to me now? What good is anything to me now?' The bitterness in his voice was unmistakeable. Minerva suddenly felt a great rush of pity for him.  
'We didn't think of that,' she said. 'We didn't expect you to live.'  
'Neither did I. And I didn't want to. I needed to stay alive until I had given Potter Dumbledore's message, and it seemed as if I wouldn't have time, and then the boy turned up after all - I have no idea how - but by then the Kartoffel's was in place and I didn't have time to undo it, and now everyone's rejoicing that I'm not actually dead!'  
'Everyone except you.'  
'Everyone except me.'  
Minerva was silent for a while. Every instinct in her was screaming against what she was about to do, but there seemed no other way . . .  
'Severus,' she began, hesitantly. 'I don't know what to suggest, but if you want a job . . .'  
'No!' he interrupted, brutally, then continued more calmly. 'I hate this school. I hated every moment I spent here as a student, and I've hated it even more as a teacher. I know it's your pride and joy, but I don't think I could ever bear to see it again. I don't know what I'm good for any more or what my life holds - except that, unfortunately, it seems as though it is going to have to hold something - but for pity's sake, Minerva, don't ask me to teach!'  
'No,' she said. 'I don't think that it's the right thing for you either. In fact I've never thought that it was the right thing for you.' She saw shock in his eyes at that, and it gave her a childish pleasure. She continued, more kindly. 'Look, you'll have a pension. You don't have to make an immediate decision. Take the summer out, give it six months or so, get well, and when you've made your mind up, I'll do everything I can to help you. I can guarantee you the best reference I have ever written, to start off with.'  
'Thank you, Minerva.' His voice held real warmth for the first time that afternoon. 'That's good of you.'  
'Don't mention it.' She got up to leave, struggling for words. She found them. 'We may not always have seen eye to eye, Severus, but you have always managed to impress me. The wizarding world needs someone of your intelligence. If we cannot use a man who can master Kartoffel's like that, then we're in a bad way indeed!'  
She was pleased to see that he blushed at that.

She had said to give it six months, but it was only August when she got the owl - a long-eared owl, an old-fashioned native breed, rather than the showy exotics everyone seemed to have these days. She approved of this: in fact she had always kept short-eareds herself for the same reason. She stroked the bird, which seemed much more docile than its master, while she untied the message from its leg.  
'Please come to see me at 12 Spinner's End, Cokeworth, whenever it is convenient. I have matters I wish to discuss with you.'  
Minerva sighed. Term started in less than a month, and, while the buildings of Hogwarts were now habitable again, she was still recruiting staff and had no idea how she was going to hold the fragmented school together. Nevertheless, she sent the owl back with a date two weeks ahead, and went.

Spinner's End, Cokeworth, was a surprise. She wasn't really sure where she had envisaged Snape living, but it certainly wasn't here. Minerva found the words 'two up, two down' somewhere at the back of her mind, associated with these little terraces - working-class muggle houses, very English - not like the tenements you would get in Edinburgh or Glasgow - in a working-class muggle neighbourhood. A neighbourhood that had seen better days too, she thought, noting the number of boarded-up windows and graffitied walls. Broken glass littered the pavements. This must be where he grew up, she thought, remembering the schoolboy with the second-hand robes and the non-wizarding name, but why had he stayed?  
Number 12 was at the end of the street. There was no doorbell, so Minerva knocked and waited.  
'Come in.' Snape opened the door, wearing muggle clothes. 'Thank you for coming. It's a beautiful day - I thought we might sit in the garden.'  
She hadn't expected the garden, either. The living room into which they stepped straight from the street, yes, with every inch of wall-space crammed with books, and the neat square kitchen behind it too, but she would never have thought that he would have a garden like this one.  
It was long and narrow, surrounded by high walls. At the bottom was a shed and beside it a door - leading into another street, presumably. A border occupied the whole of one side; the rest was paved. The border, and numerous pots on the paved area, were full of plants. Most Minerva recognised - honesty, foxglove, valerian, dittany, lavender. These were herbs useful for potions, but common enough to excite no adverse interest from muggles. So far, so normal - but apparently Snape was also a flower-lover. Honeysuckle and clematis straggled over the walls, and sweet-scented roses, deep red and pure white, climbed round the back door. The pots were full of geraniums, nicotiana, and snapdragons, and in a shady corner there was a clump of hostas, whose large handsome leaves formed a backdrop to the brighter flowers. The urban nightmare of the street was forgotten here - this was pure cottage garden.  
'Surprised?' Snape asked, following her out with a tray of drinks. There was a small table on the paving stones, and a folding chair beside it. He conjured up another one and gestured to it.  
'Yes.' She sat down. 'It's not what I expected at all - but it's beautiful!'  
'It's a good place to recuperate.'  
'Well, you're certainly looking much better for it. Did you want to discuss that reference?'  
'Well . . . actually, no. I've . . . decided it would be best to leave the wizarding world for a while. I've got a part-time job in the Alexandra Arms down the road. No,' - noticing her smile - 'this is a rough area. Your traditional jovial barman would cut no ice here. They prefer surly - it's what they're used to. And I've another part-time position at the local library. That's about all my health will stand at the moment, I think - but it should cover my needs, more or less. And if not, I have some savings.'  
Minerva was horrified.  
'But . . . the muggle world! How on earth will you survive without your magic?'  
'I don't plan to survive without it. I've got my workshop there.' He gestured towards the shed. 'I've always intended to do some research into potions, and now perhaps I'll get round to it. And perhaps publish it too - the whole discipline has been stagnant for years. It could do with a shake up, and as you said, the wizarding world needs someone of my intelligence.' He gave her a sly glance out of the corner of his eye as he said that. Severus Snape making jokes, she thought. What are we coming to? Wonders will never cease!  
He continued. 'So no, I'm not shutting myself off completely. But I just don't think that I can interact with the wizarding world on a day-to-day basis at the moment. Minerva, did you know that Celestina Warbeck is writing a song about me?'  
'About you and Lily Potter, I presume? No, I didn't know that.'  
'Well, she is. Just in case there is someone somewhere who is still unacquainted with the most tragic love story the wizarding world has ever known, she's going to write a song about it. It's unbearable! The letters I've had from teenage witches - and their mothers . . .'  
'I can imagine.'  
'Not to mention the Potter boy round here every five minutes, desperate for memories of Lily . . .'  
'You'll have to forgive him, Severus. Think of the childhood he had.'  
'Think of the childhood I had! It was no better than his. And no-one seems inclined to forgive me anything on that account, I've noticed. But don't worry, I give your precious Potter everything I can remember - just to get him to go away, to be honest!'  
'But you can remember less now? Or perhaps you don't want to remember?'  
'Perhaps I don't.' He took a deep breath, and rubbed his hands together, looking at them. When he spoke again his voice was anguished. 'It's odd. For years, Lily was the most real thing in my life. I saw her eyes every time I closed mine. My every thought was how I could become the man I had failed to be for her, the man she would have wanted me to be. And now, the more everybody speaks of my love for her, the less real that love seems to be. It's almost as if I knew no more about her than they do; sometimes, it's as if I never really loved her at all.'  
'Oh, you loved her all right - or you loved some part of her anyway.' Not for the first time in her life, Minerva found herself fighting the urge to say how amazed she was that a bright but commonplace girl like Lily Evans could generate such devotion from so many people. 'But you did become a man worthy of her, Severus,' He looked up suddenly and blushed. 'A man more than worthy of her. She has served her purpose for you. Let her rest now.' She sighed. 'I only wish I could get Harry Potter to do the same.'  
'He's young.' The black eyes were very serious. 'And it's even harder to forget a mother, I think, especially if you never knew her. But for me - you're right, she is going from me. I am someone different now, and I don't know what I feel about anything any more. And I can't work that out in a world that is still insisting on who I was.'  
She nodded. 'Good luck. But if you don't want a reference, what do you want?'  
'Well, I can see my new life now, I suppose. But I'm aware that I still have a share of responsibility for the mess I made of the old one. And before the new school year starts, I want to discuss my old house with you.'  
'Frankly, I could do with some help on that front.'  
'I thought you might. They are not that thrilled that you are to be headmistress, to be honest. I've had owls - and visits. They can still remember you ordering them out.'  
Minerva reddened. 'I am so ashamed of that, Severus. I hated them so much, I just wanted rid of them - and then when they went to get their parents and came back to help me . . . ' Her voice tailed off.  
'We were never what you thought us.' She felt his eyes on her. 'But I don't think I did much to help either, did I?'  
This was suddenly much easier than she had thought. 'Frankly, you did stir up a sense that it was Slytherin against the rest.'  
'I wasn't the only one who did that.'  
'No, you weren't.'  
'But I encouraged it. We had to defend ourselves - so I thought, anyway. I might have been wrong there. But that is past. We must look to the future. I see that you have appointed Araminta Heseltine as Potions Mistress. A good choice, I think - she was always very able. But she's a Ravenclaw.'  
'And will be head of Ravenclaw house.' She saw his surprise. 'Filius is retiring.'  
'Well, I'm sure he's earned his rest. Do give him my very best wishes, and let me know when the leaving do is. And Araminta will be a very able successor to him, I'm sure. But you still need someone for Slytherin. Have you thought about Claudius Wainwright?'  
'Claudius Wainright? From the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? To teach what?'  
'Muggle Studies. Yes, the head of Slytherin house teaching Muggle Studies. Why not? He's got the legal background. He knows the Ministry side of it like the back of his hand. And he's a half-blood. He's lived with muggles, he knows them. He knows that they are not pitiful or stupid, and he knows exactly how much of a threat they represent and why. He will be able to explain their technology properly. He might even be able to teach their culture - he's an opera lover, or so he told me once. Young witches and wizards need to stop thinking of muggles as children - why, they might actually be introduced to Shakespeare, Mozart . . .'  
'I'm more of a Bach lover myself.'  
'Ah, I thought that was what I heard coming from your office! St John Passion? My father used to sing it with the local choir, every year. St John Passion, St Matthew Passion, Christmas Oratorio, Handel's Messiah . . .'  
'I thought you hated your father?'  
'I did. I do. But - it's like Lily, I don't seem to be able to feel it so much any more, I just remember the music. That was where my mother met him, the choir - the music was what brought them together.'  
'It's wonderful music, isn't it? My father used to love it too. But that's quite an idea, Severus. Do you think Wainwright would do it?''  
'Yes. I hear he's getting fed up with the Ministry. If he were asked by Horace, say, as a special favour to him - you know how to work it - he would jump at the chance. He would be great, Minerva.'  
'But it's not just the head of house that's the problem.'  
'No indeed. I have other thoughts, if you would like to hear them.'  
'Yes, certainly.' Minerva cursed her decision to make this a short visit. It had turned out to be more interesting that she had thought. 'But I have to get back now - I have a meeting at the Ministry at 6. Could I come again to talk to you?'  
'Certainly. Any time you like. Just send me an owl.'  
That suddenly seemed very inadequate. As she got up to leave, Minerva made a decision.  
'I might need your help more often than that. And I might need some intelligent conversation also. Severus - would you mind sitting for your portrait?'  
As she watched him turn scarlet, pleased and embarrassed, Minerva realised that a working relationship with Severus Snape would be far from the worst thing in the world.


End file.
